A Meditation Upon the Death of Uzumaki Naruto
by Smertios
Summary: A somewhat ponderous and pointed meditation upon the tragic life and death of Uzumaki Naruto.


**A Meditation Upon the Death of Uzumaki Naruto**

By Smertios

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't profit from it.

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Uzumaki Naruto died on a Thursday. The five-year-old, unloved, unnoticed, and uncared for passed from life at 3 in the morning in the dead of night. In the end, not even the Kyuubi could protect the boy from the biting cold of winter combined with the effects of a month of starvation and dehydration.

His body was not found for another month, when a woman rooting through a dumpster for food pulled the corpse out. The ANBU were called, and the third Hokage was notified.

Naruto's funeral was also on a Thursday. Only two men attended. The first was Sarutobi Taro, third Hokage of Konohagakure, and the boy's godfather. The other was Hatake Kakashi, student of the Naruto's father. The service was held in near silence, and as the closed coffin was lowered into the earth few tears were shed.

With a silence and somberness that juxtaposed his lonely life, Konoha's greatest hero disappeared into the soft night. Few words were spoken. Fewer still needed. The Hokage, feeling the weight of his failure, would never truly recover. Kakashi, having never even spent a moment of his life upon the boy, would get drunk that night, and promptly forgive himself the next day. Life, infinitesimally less cheerful and vivacious, went on.

Within eight short years, Konoha would burn, and its military might would be ground to dust in a joint attack by Sunagakure and Otogakure.

But the end of the story, however maudlin, pales horribly when compared to the substance of the plot. The great tragedy of the story is not Naruto's death. Nor is it the fall of a mildly ethical government in a world of Machiavellian powers. It lies in the sad and lonesome life of Uzumaki Naruto.

It should seem anathema to the reader that in a world in which mystic energies can be harnessed to the bidding of man that a child should be allowed to die of exposure in a city of enormous plenty. Yet, that is exactly what occurred. Naruto died, not of war or disease, but of apathy.

He was not abused, in any traditional sense of the word. No hand was ever lifted against him. The sharp tongues of his elders were not used to belittle him. And yet, there is no question that he faced a similar abuse: he was completely ignored.

The people, too afraid to hurt the demon they hated most, chose to pretend that it did not exist. While Naruto was in the orphanage, he was able to eat, able to find a warm place to sleep. However, the oppressive weight of loneliness, broken only by the occasional and cursory visit by the Hokage, drove the boy to leave. Unwanted, unloved, he scrounged his living from dumpsters, unable to even gain kindness from passing strangers.

And so, cold and alone, he died. He did not cry. He had long since lost any use for tears. They merely dehydrated him. He had long since lost any use for begging. No help was forthcoming. His last breath was not the gasp of a struggling soul, but the sigh of one broken by the world that he was leaving.

Now, perhaps, reader, you come to understand the tragedy of Naruto's death. Not merely did a child die needlessly, he died alone and miserable. His life was torture and his death was release. But reader, the tragedy has just begun. You see, modulo the moderately justifiable fear and hate of the people of Konoha, Naruto's story is repeating itself right outside of your front door, and you could stop it.

Children die every year on the streets of America. Some are mentally ill. Others have been kicked out of their homes because of their sexuality, their parent's own psychological struggles, or mere cruelty on the part of the persons that birthed them. Some have turned to drugs or alcohol, some have given up hope. All of them are tragedies.

Let me ask you a question, then, reader. If the plenty of Naruto's world is reason enough to see tragedy in his death, what of the plenty of this world? How can you or I justify these deaths? How can we ignore the silent genocide of America's streets? The plenty of Konohagakure pales miserably in the face of the plenty of America.

Some of us manage cursory donations and voluntarism. We are the Third Hokage. We know our responsibility and vaguely have fought to fulfill it, but we are unable to do everything alone, and our own lives keep us from doing enough. Some of us are Hatake Kakashi, sobbing pointlessly over the death of one we did nothing for. And perhaps we will get drunk for the night, but tomorrow, lessons unlearned, we will forgive ourselves.

Uzumaki Naruto died on a Thursday, and you, and I, and every one of us with our eyes closed to the suffering of others are to blame. May God forgive us.

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**Author's Note: **This plot bunny bit me this evening and as soon as I wrote the first line, the rest followed. It is preachy, oversimplified, and entirely heavy-handed. Nonetheless, it is where my mind was, and it was powerful enough, in my estimation, to warrant posting. If I offended, I'm not particularly sorry. If I shocked, I'm not particularly perturbed. I was experimenting with a different narrative style, and a different voice. It was intended to be confrontational and demanding. Take it as you will.

I shall post something more narrative and more positive in the future, just as soon as something worthy of writing comes to me.


End file.
